


The Chesapeake Ripper In London

by SlasherFiend



Category: Hannibal (TV), Murdoch Mysteries
Genre: Alternate Universe - Victorian, Dubious Consent, Hannibal is a Cannibal, M/M, Possessive Hannibal, implied relationship for Will/slightly OFC only
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-24
Updated: 2015-08-24
Packaged: 2018-04-16 14:20:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4628493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SlasherFiend/pseuds/SlasherFiend
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>William Graham is a detective for Scotland Yard, collaborating with the local constables to catch the Whitechapel murderer. As he works with the evidence he is introduced to Hannibal Lecter, a doctor who has come on to help with the case. They encounter obstacles once the press dubs the murderer as Jack the Ripper. Now William tries to stay one step a head of the Ripper while befriending Dr. Lecter in the streets of London.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Chesapeake Ripper In London

**Author's Note:**

  * For [carrionofmywaywardson](https://archiveofourown.org/users/carrionofmywaywardson/gifts).



> This is exactly what you think it is. I borrowed George from the awesome show "Murdoch Mysteries" because I got lazy and didn't want to make up another character. I don't own Hannibal or Murdoch Mysteries, just having fun with the characters in Victorian England.
> 
> George's profile: http://www.imdb.com/media/rm2744170752/nm1649782?ref_=nmmi_mi_all_sf_9
> 
> Will's look: http://www.imdb.com/media/rm1976938752/tt1435513?ref_=ttmi_mi_all_sf_9 and http://www.imdb.com/media/rm3893214208/tt1435513?ref_=ttmi_mi_all_sf_20 and http://www.imdb.com/media/rm2111156480/tt1435513?ref_=ttmi_mi_all_sf_16 and http://www.imdb.com/media/rm2144710912/tt1435513?ref_=ttmi_mi_all_sf_14
> 
> This is my first fic on this site and first published for Hannibal, I hope you like it. See the end for more notes.  
> Not beta read, all mistakes are mine.

William Graham stared down at the photographs from the last crime scene. The police constables mingled around him now, keeping the slight crowd back from the most recent victim of the Whitechapel murderer. One constable stood near him with a lantern. William kneeled down, raising the sheet covering the woman to glance at her corpse. It was as grisly a sight as the others had been. William noted her throat had been slashed; her intestines pulled out and laid across her body. Her face was cut in more than one place. She hadn’t been dead for very long. William rubbed at his eyes; sleep was not as comforting as it once was, and that was what he wanted most at the moment. William sighed and stood. The medical examiner came forward, an American. William regarded Mr. Zeller carefully. “You think it’s connected?” Zeller asked.

William nodded. “Mutilation of the body is consistent with the other two victims we have,” William replied. “Did anyone see anything?”

“Constables are working on witnesses now,” Zeller replied. William was about to walk away when Zeller said, “I don’t think he’s very skillful with a blade.” William stopped, his shoes clacking a little on the stone walkway. He turned to Zeller, pulling at his brown overcoat. “Why do you say that?” William asked.

“The cuts on her face,” Zeller replied. “Seem sort of hacked, so he’s not very good at handling his tools.”

“The removal of her intestines takes skill, knowledge of anatomy to do so,” William countered, completely facing Zeller.

“It could be luck,” Zeller said, hands in his pockets as the body was put on a cot to be carried into the carriage where it would be transported back to the station. “He could be a butcher, hacking at bodies like he does meat,” Zeller went on. “Sort of like the Hobbs case you worked on.” William bristled at the mention of the ill-fated case.

Garret Jacob Hobbs had been a butcher, making money for his family, when he had snapped, realizing his only daughter Abigail would take all the money they had saved to get married. Garret Jacob Hobbs had killed eight girls, putting the city in a panic, keeping their young ones locked in their houses, despite Hobbs never killing anyone under the age of his daughter. Once William, under the Yard’s permission, had connected the murders to Hobbs, constables went to arrest the man. William had gone with them, only to watch as Hobbs’ wife was shoved out the door, throat slit and as the constables broke in, Hobbs killed his daughter Abigail with a knife before he was shot to death.

“This is nothing like that,” William hissed. “The murderer has the knowledge of human bodies; he likely practiced or still practices medicine. The slashes to the face could have been quick.”

“I still think he has no idea and slashes at these ladies in a blind manner,” Zeller said. William stepped close to Zeller.

“You’re just a consultant,” William snarled. “Your opinion matters only to yourself at this moment.” The two glared at each other before one of the constables called William over to talk to a witness.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Later, William sat poring over the reports on the first three victims of the Whitechapel murderer at a desk in his rented apartment. A clock ticked above his head and his candle flickered on the desk in front of him. The killer was getting bold, the third victim had been killed within an hour or so of the new victim, who was identified as Catherine Eddowes. William stared at the photographs of the crime scenes, flipped through the brief sketches and placed the autopsy photos next to each other. He sighed, tapping the corners of the autopsy photographs. Mr. Zeller still disagreed about the murderer having any medical knowledge and William tried to make sure that didn’t irk him. William was being paid by Scotland Yard to find the killer and put an end to his murders so London could sleep better at night. But right now William had to wait for the final report from Mr. Zeller and see if the constables had any more witness accounts to tell him about. William rubbed his hands over his face, his sleeves rolled up and his suspenders undone. He figured he’d try to get some sleep and put everything away. He took the candle and headed next door for his bed. William sat down, leaving the candle by the mirror, on top of the dresser and untied his shoes, pulling them off and undoing the buttons on his shirt. He tossed the shirt aside, planning on picking it up in the morning and got out of his pants. He pulled his nightgown on over his head, not bothering to tie the cotton, and crawled into bed.

That night, William tossed and turned, dreaming of the dark streets of Whitechapel. A man walked down them, dressed regularly, glancing at the women that worked here. They asked if he wanted anything, nearly hanging on his arm and he declined. In his hand was rolled a copy of the day’s newspaper. He walked down the street and stopped where Ms. Eddowes had been found by a watchman. He stared at the spot and walked off into the dark. Suddenly William was following the man, around a corner and William stopped, having lost who he was looking for. Then he heard someone come up behind him. William wanted to turn, but found that he couldn’t move. A sharp pain blossomed in his lower belly and he clutched at his intestines before they had the chance to spill to the street. “What do you see?” a voice whispered and William woke suddenly, covered in sweat. William panted, glancing around the dimly lit room, it was not yet daybreak. He got up and went to the dresser, splashing his face with water from the basin. He pulled his nightgown off and began to get dressed.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
A little later, William walked to the police station, to get Mr. Zeller’s final autopsy report. William was dressed in a grey suit, with a red tie. It was one of the best suits he owned. Despite the Yard paying him handsomely, he didn’t have more than a few suits in his possession. Yesterday, he had dressed a little less formally as it had been the early morning and he had pulled his coat on over everything so he could work in peace, disregarding what others thought. As William made his way through the bustling station, most constables just coming in to start their day, he was stopped by a young constable named George. There was a taller man behind the constable. “Sorry to bother you Mr. Graham,” George said. “But this man wanted to talk to you.”

“I have to get to the morgue,” William replied.

“Yes, I know,” George said.

“It’s terribly rude to interrupt,” the tall man said with a strange accent. The man met William’s eyes before the detective glanced at George.

“I’m sorry,” the taller man went on. “My name is Hannibal Lecter and I was told I could spare you a few moments of your time.”

“In what regards?” William asked with a huff.

“I’m not a journalist, if that is your concern,” Lecter replied. “I am a psychologist and want to help you catch this killer.”

“A psychologist?” William asked. “I’ve only recently heard about that field, you study the mind.”

“I do,” Lecter answered. “But I believe it is much more than that.” Lecter looked around, as George had walked away.

“Is there someplace we could talk, just for a small while?”

William nodded and they walked into one of the interview rooms. William shut the door. “Who put you on the case?” he asked, standing by the door, watching Lecter stand by the table.

“A colleague of mine, Dr. Chilton,” Lecter replied.

“He is director of the local asylum,” William spat.

“He was allowed to pull strings so you could help?”

“He is not a friend,” Lecter said, sitting down. “We studied together in university.”

“In Germany?” William asked, trying to guess Lecter’s accent. Lecter smiled, a small one.

“I was born in Lithuania,” Lecter answered. “I studied here in London, where I met Chilton.”

“And became a psychologist,” William said. Lecter nodded. William looked the other man over. He had slight graying hair, indicating he was William’s senior and was dressed in a simple navy blue suit with a red and orange patterned tie.

“But only recently, what did you study before?” William asked, walking around to see Lecter’s face.

“Medicine, I was a doctor,” Lecter answered. “But my methods were becoming outdated and I figured going into a new field would give me a different aspect of a human body without the risk of death.” William was speechless, he could tell the doctor was a brilliant man, and could be a great help to the case. William knew he needed another great mind beside his.

“Why did Chilton want you on the case?” he asked. Hannibal shook his head.

“I believe at first he wasn’t serious, merely wanted me out somewhere with my psychology, to mock me. I don’t think he truly thought I would come to you, or that you would be so ready for my help.” William hesitated with speaking, the doctor’s words made him sound eager, too eager.

“I’ll show you what I know,” William said after a moment and led the way to the morgue.

Mr. Zeller was joined by Mr. Price, the attending mortician and they went over the details of the autopsy. Mr. Zeller still disagreed with William about the cuts on the face of Catherine Eddowes body. Hannibal watched them all silently, taking in the bickering and how they talked about his own handiwork. Afterwards William showed Lecter the collected information they had in the cases. Hannibal glanced at a newspaper on a constable’s desk, which was titled “Leather Apron strikes again!” Hannibal frowned, he didn’t like that name. But there was nothing he could do to change it now. He listened to William as the younger man went through the details of the previous killings and it made Hannibal proud to see someone so dedicated to his work, up till this time, the other detectives seemed to only want to put the Whitechapel murderer behind bars because they were getting pressure to do so. William had the same pressure, but he was beginning to see why the women were killed, but not yet fully. Hannibal hoped to get William to see what he was truly capable of. After the discussion, William went to talk to witnesses and Hannibal declined, not wanting to risk being recognized, and told William he was going home, suffering from a headache.

William didn’t glean anything too useful from the witnesses, two said they saw a man but gave different descriptions, so the constables were still at a loss of who to keep a lookout for at night. He took copies of his notes back to his apartment and scribbled ‘Hannibal Lecter’ on a piece of paper, deciding to look into the man’s background at an off chance the man was lying. William added the copies of the autopsy report and photograph to his collection and stared at the words on the pages before him.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
The next thing William heard was a knocking on his door. He grumbled and sat up, having dozed off at his desk. He left the room and walked to the door, squinting as he rubbed sleep from his eyes. He opened the door and Hannibal stood on the stoop. “Hello William,” Lecter said. William tilted his head.

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

“It is past nine AM,” Lecter replied. “I was at the station and there was ugly shouting, demands to know where you were. I offered to come find you.”

“Why weren’t constables sent?” William muttered, using the door to block out the fact he was still dressed in yesterday’s clothes.

“They have much more important matters on their hands to work with,” Lecter said. William sighed, noticing the doctor was wearing a blue and white patterned tie today. “May I come in?” Lecter asked. William worried his bottom lip, but after a moment, opened the door. Hannibal looked around the bottom floor apartment with heavily restrained disdain. It was barely kept up, though that wasn’t a surprise. William had a bedroom, work space and a washroom where he could bathe. “Where do you eat?” Hannibal asked, glancing at the stairs that led to the other tenant above.

“Wherever I can,” William replied, walking towards his bedroom. “Mostly it’s at work, something from a street vendor.”

Hannibal tsked. “You should take better care of yourself William,” he muttered. Hannibal had shut the door and waited for William to change into something fresher. It was a few minutes later when William emerged, wearing a black suit and a brown tie.

“This is my Sunday best,” William grumbled. “If only I could work in trousers like the constables.”

“You are a detective, you should dress like a higher standing gentleman,” Hannibal said. William sighed.

“I don’t have the luxury of time to go buy more clothes, I’m too busy.”

“Perhaps once this case is closed, you will have the time,” Hannibal said.

“I can only dream,” William said and they left. As they briskly walked along, Hannibal watched William, how differently he carried himself around other people. The younger man was handsome and Hannibal was a little surprised to find there was no woman hanging off his arm. But at the same time Hannibal was glad. He didn’t want some floozy stealing what could be his. Hannibal intended to keep William away from the truth for now, despite the other man’s brilliant mind, and to keep him by his side, to groom him into the beauty that Hannibal knew was inside.

The rest of the day was uneventful. William ignored how his boss from the Yard angrily declared that his best detective could not set his own hours and come waltzing in whenever he felt like it. William reminded his boss he had a steady job as a dock hand before being pulled out of early dismissal from the Yard. Other than staring at all the evidence and speaking with a few constables about the witnesses, William was glad to go back home at the end of the day and go to bed. Despite having woken up on his desk, it had been a rather good night’s rest.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
The next day, the papers were talking about a letter sent from the Whitechapel murderer, or Jack the Ripper as he was now being called. The letter talked about the previous murders and the papers were awash with the details. The only detail that wasn’t given was who the letter was sent from. William was sent with George to talk to the journalist who received the letter. The man’s name was Francis, a soft spoken man. He told when he received the letter, which had been when he came in to his desk that morning. “Did you see anyone put the letter on your desk?” George asked. Francis shook his head. William handled the postcard, looking it over. He stared at the date.

“I don’t think this is from the Ripper,” he said.

“How do you know that?” Francis asked.

“The date is wrong,” William replied. “When this was sent out, anyone could have known about the details of the murders, other journalists and the like. I doubt Jack would be so dull to brag about his deeds, days after he committed them.” He handed the postcard to George. “Sorry to waste your time,” William said.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
In the days that followed, William became overwhelmed with how the case had stalled. He had thought that at least the Ripper would kill again, but it was not so. The postcard sent to Francis had been discovered to been sent by a fellow journalist by the name of Freddie Lounds. Lounds was a journalist who liked to embellish what he wrote, creating flair in his columns. He admitted to sending the postcard, just so it could keep the story of Jack the Ripper interesting to the public for a little while more. In the meantime, in between staring at his notes, William spent lunch with Hannibal. They ate and Hannibal talked. He talked of opening his own office, to care for the mentally afflicted. William had muttered that Hannibal would find no shortage of patients. After that, Hannibal asked William about his upbringing.

“A little brash of a lunch subject, isn’t it?” he asked, sipping tea.

“I am merely curious,” Hannibal replied.

“It will sound so insignificant next to your life,” William mumbled.

“That doesn’t matter,” Hannibal said with a bite to his words. “I find you interesting William.”

William sighed and set his tea cup down. He explained how his mother had died in childbirth and that his father had helped raise him, along with his older brother till his brother died working in a mill. After that his father had taken care of him for the little while longer that he could, before William began work, delivering newspapers at first. He told Hannibal briefly about his other jobs, eventually earning enough money to buy a headstone for his father when he passed of a failure of the heart. “Then I went on to become a detective, not much to tell after that,” William said, rounding out his story and staring at his cold tea. Hannibal knew there was more, but didn’t press. Days turned into weeks and with no new work on the Ripper, William spent as much of his free time with Hannibal as possible, telling himself it was just for something to do.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
By the second week, Hannibal asked William if he wanted to go to the opera with him. William admitted to never having been before and decided to go, dusting off his top hat. At the entrance, William was ready to pull out some change to pay for his ticket, but Hannibal paid for him, insisting that being a one-time occasion, he could spare the money. The show was exquisite, more astounding than anything William had thought it would be. He knew the range of the singers was great, but the intensity that came with them could not have been guessed beforehand. He sat next to Hannibal and swore he saw the other man shed a tear before the show ended. As they left, William was sure he saw some ladies talking to themselves about Hannibal and himself, but was distracted to really think on it by Hannibal, helping him into a coach.

Afterwards, through the week, as they ate lunch, Hannibal noticed William smiling more and genuinely looking pleased. It made Hannibal feel accomplished to get the detective on his side and he hoped maybe to progress beyond friendship, even if meant in secret. But the day he planned to talk to William about that, the station was alerted to a package from the Ripper.

William had the letter set aside and opened the box, which contained a kidney. “George, please get Mr. Zeller,” he told the constable. Hannibal stood nearby, eyes on the kidney and supposed letter. He had not sent the kidney; it seemed he was being set up by the press again. The fame was fine, but was staring to become irritating. William picked up the letter and read it, despite the terrible penmanship. The line about eating the kidney stopped William’s blood cold. He recalled how Hobbs had disposed of his victims by dismembering them and putting their meat among the animals in his butcher shop. A few of the victims had only bone fragments left. If the Ripper was eating part of his victims, then that changed everything. It meant the Ripper was a cannibal and he was taking the organs for more than just their meat. “He-he’s taking souvenirs,” William said.

“Is that what the letter says?” Hannibal asked.

“No,” William replied. “It did say he ate part of the kidney though.”

Hannibal moved to read the letter over William’s shoulder. Hannibal wasn’t sure whose kidney it was, but it was not from the rude, vile woman he had killed almost a month ago. Either it was the press again, or it was a medical student making a fuss. “I had forgotten that Zeller said her kidney was missing,” William muttered.

“It would be easy to overlook,” Hannibal said, watching George and Zeller approach. “But we all make mistakes William, which is why we are human.”

“I know,” William said softly. “But I can’t afford to make them. Not when I have to catch him.” Zeller came up and William explained the situation and with a gloved hand the mortician took the kidney. George went about, asking who knew anything about the box and letter. William sighed. This just got more difficult.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
The following week, the news had tossed theories back and forth about the letter and kidney. Some believed it was a student, while Hannibal was sure Freddie Lounds had a hand in sending the letter again, anything for a story with that one. William became frustrated, sitting silently at lunch as he racked his mind for clues on the Ripper. Though Hannibal was delighted to see the detective so uneasy due to the Ripper, he didn’t want the other man to suffer needlessly. “William,” Hannibal said, putting his newspaper down. “I’ll pay for lunch today.”

William looked up. “You’ve been paying for my lunch for some time, I have the funds to do so myself.”

“I am aware,” Hannibal said. “But we are friends…”

“Yes, but friends who buy lunch together on a frequent basis and I’ve never paid you back. It almost feels like you’re trying to court me.”

Hannibal smiled and William chuckled at the suggestion. Hannibal felt the urge to tell William how serious he was, but noticed the detective look away. Another time then, Hannibal thought.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Soon October was drawing to a close and William was no closer to catching the Ripper than he had been in September. His boss at the Yard wasn’t too happy about that, considering they had no idea how long the Ripper was planning on killing, they needed the man off the streets for good before Christmas. William could only give his thoughts on the matter and prayed the Ripper didn’t strike again in the near future. William sat outside with Hannibal, for lunch, like always, his heavy tan coat pulled up around his collar.

“You should wear a scarf,” Hannibal told him.

“Can’t we eat indoors?” William asked in return.

“This is much more private than sitting inside with a crowd,” Hannibal replied. “And you dislike crowds.”

William only hummed in response. “Why do you buy lunch for me?” he asked and listened to Hannibal sigh, as this had been a topic they had already discussed before.

“So you can save your money to purchase more suits. How many have you been able to buy since I started buying lunch for you over a month ago?”

“At least three,” William muttered. Hannibal nodded. “Still feels like you’re courting me,” William said, turning to watch a couple walk into the restaurant.

“If I was, we would have to have gone on a date,” Hannibal told him.

William turned back. “The opera doesn’t count?” he asked with a small smirk.

“No,” Hannibal answered, smiling. “I wanted you to experience something you never had before.”

“Seems like you want me to experience more and more of the unknown with you,” William said slowly.

“Is that a problem?” Hannibal asked, picking up his tea. William tilted his head, thinking about his answer, but then shook his head. “Good,” Hannibal said. “Now drink your tea before it gets cold.”  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Near the end of the week, as the days grew a little chillier, Hannibal figured he’d finally ask William about the prospect of being intimate. They sat outside for lunch; William was lost in his thoughts once again, bitter about how his job seemed to be failing. Hannibal pulled a scarf from his coat and handed it to William. It was a dark red, a lovely shade if Hannibal had to say so himself. William blinked and gently took the scarf. “Thank you,” he said softly and wrapped it around his neck, pulling his coat’s collar down. “William, there is something I need to ask you,” Hannibal started to say.

“Is it about your practice?” William interrupted.

“No,” Hannibal replied slowly. “Why would you think so?”

William shook his head. “Do you have one yet? You’ve never told me about any patients.”

“I do have a practice set up, though it is small,” Hannibal replied. “The work is not instant and requires weekly checkups, so my list of patients is very slim, though I do believe I am making their lives better.”

“That’s good, good to hear,” William said with a nod and small smile.

“What I wanted to ask was…You have said you feel like I am courting you,” Hannibal said. William froze, eyes staring at the doctor, but he nodded. “I am aware that such a thought is taboo in this country and we would have to conduct everything in private,” Hannibal went on.

“You’re serious,” William stated.

Hannibal glanced at William’s face. “Completely,” he said.

William’s face clouded with anger. “You do realize what you are asking of me, don’t you?” he hissed. It was Hannibal’s turn to nod. “Then I’m sorry, Dr. Lecter, but I can’t,” William said. He stood up. “I’m sure things are handled differently in Lithuania, but I am a proper Englishman, and am expected to marry and carry on for the good of the country.”

“Yet you have never shown any interest in women,” Hannibal said. William’s cheeks reddened and he dug into his pocket, pulling out some change and threw it on the table and walked away. Hannibal sighed. That was one of the reactions he had expected, sadly. He would have to win William back, another way and show him what he had been denying to himself.

William wandered up and down streets, ignoring anyone who passed by. “The nerve!” he hissed. “How could he possibly think I would…?” He stopped on a street and yanked the scarf off, shoving it into his coat and turned the collar up. He kept walking and soon found himself in Whitechapel. He huffed, his breath ghosting in the air. Of course his mind would take to the place the Ripper had been killing, it was the only stable thing he had in his life at the moment. He looked around and noticed the Ten Bells building. He had heard some constables talking to George about the place, how they were wondering if that’s where the Ripper went to find his victims, because prostitutes were frequent there. William decided he needed a drink. He walked to the Ten Bells and went inside, noticing a few men sitting around with drafts already. He went up the bar and ordered a drink, took it after paying and went and sat down. William was not one to drink heavily, not when he had work to think about. But right now, he didn’t want to think about work, or Hannibal Lecter, and was planning on getting drunk. He had the money and slowly made his way through a few glasses.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
By the time dusk had fallen, more men were inside and the prostitutes were hanging onto some of their arms, trying to work. William glanced at them and one came over, a woman with red hair and a short dark dress that had no sleeves and just covered her knees. “Looking for something love?” she asked with an Irish accent. William was about to respond, to tell her he wasn’t interested, but Hannibal’s words came back then. William scowled and nodded.

“Yes, actually,” he managed to say. The woman smiled.

“You’re cute,” she said. “Haven’t seen you in here before.”

“Just needed some time to think,” William slurred.

“Course,” the prostitute replied. “Need some help getting up?” William shook his head and got up, putting some money on the rickety table where his unfinished glass sat. The prostitute took hold of William’s arm and guided him out into the cold night. “Winter’s coming early,” she grumbled, shivering.

“Here,” William muttered and pulled the scarf out, wrapping it around her.

“Thanks mister,” she said. “Awfully kind.”

“It was from a friend,” William told her. She looked ready to say more and he asked, “Your place should be warmer?” She nodded.

“Hope so,” she answered. “If the landlord put coal in the fire, if not we can make our own heat.” She smiled.

“What’s your name?” William asked as she turned him down a street. “Mary” was the response. William hummed.

“Mary Kelly,” she added. “Though Mr. Kelly was my father.” William nodded. They walked the rest of the way in silence, till they reached the street Mary lived on, when she started singing at the top of her lungs, swaying on William’s arm. William smiled gently as she danced in place. They reached a door and paused, her song was still going and she spun, letting go of William’s arm, reaching for the door, but put her arm through the window beside it instead. Mary laughed and unlocked the door from the inside, opening it and going to light a few candles while William shut the door.

“You must be hurt,” he said. “No, I’m alright,” Mary replied, picking out the large pieces of glass in her hand and using a ribbon from her dress to wind around the cuts. She took the scarf off and handed it to William. He took his coat off and hung the scarf with the coat, following Mary to her bed.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Hannibal followed George, not happy that William was late to work again. It was almost lunch time and William was still home, as far as the doctor knew. George knocked on the door, calling for William. “Dr. Lecter is with me,” George added. There was no answer and George turned to Hannibal. The constable was a little concerned and confused.

“Is it unlocked?” Hannibal asked.

“I…Should we not get the landlord?” George asked in return.

“What if William’s well-being is at risk?” Hannibal replied. George frowned, but tried the door knob, it was unlocked and he pushed it open. “I shall go see how he is,” Hannibal said. “You may fetch the landlord now if you wish.” George nodded and walked off. Hannibal entered the tiny apartment and went into William’s bedroom and found the younger man asleep, half dressed and on top of his coat, his limbs in every direction. The smell of sex was heavy in the room. “What have you done William?” Hannibal hissed and leaned to take the detective’s pulse. The heart was pumping and Hannibal rolled William onto his back. “Wake up William,” Hannibal said loudly, slapping his face. William’s eyes flew open, startled and he lurched, going to the window and opening it, vomiting on the walk outside. Hannibal arched an eyebrow.

William turned to look at him. “Still plaguing me in my dreams,” he muttered.

This was interesting, the detective not only thought Hannibal wasn’t real, but had been visited by a version in the night. “I thought I had fixed that,” William muttered, running his hands over his face and into his hair. He suddenly chuckled. “Mary, Mary Kelly,” he said with a tiny smile. Hannibal was silent, not wanting to disrupt the scene before him. Yet, he was infuriated. William had gotten drunk and slept with a woman of the night. He had given his body to someone else, trying to rid his body of whatever feelings he had for Hannibal, and had done so with a stranger and in his own bed, none the less. Hannibal clenched his hands at his sides, realizing he would have to find out about her as soon as possible, before he lost William for good.

William went over and washed his face, attempting to fix his hair in the process. Hannibal moved and William watched him out of the corner of his eye. “You’re not dreaming,” the doctor said.

“I’ve become aware,” William muttered. “I doubt one dreams of expelling their stomach contents onto the street.”

“It is unlikely,” Hannibal said, trying to be careful about what he said, not wanting William to lash out or say something he did not whole heartedly mean.

“You’ve come to fetch me to the station?” William asked, moving towards his bed to pick up his coat.

“I have, but I can give you some time to dress,” Hannibal said and walked out. He found George and the landlord standing by the door. The landlord was a small man, with wispy black hair and a large moustache. “Who are you?” he asked, squinting at Hannibal.

“This is Dr. Hannibal Lecter,” George explained. “He’s working with Detective Graham on the Ripper case.”

“Oh,” the landlord grunted.

“Do you know when William came home last night?” Hannibal asked. The landlord grumbled something and shifted, thinking about, his eyes to the ground.

“Had to be around six this morning,” the landlord eventually answered. “I could see the dawn was approaching and could see him pass my window.” The man pointed to the building across the street, presumably where he lived. “I have to be up at that hour, sometimes to check rent…”

Hannibal nodded, cutting off the rest of the sentence. “Thank you sir,” he said. “I am just glad William and his charge made it inside.” The landlord grunted.

“Charge? What are you talking about?”

“Did he not come home with a woman?” Hannibal asked. The landlord was about to reply when he bid a hasty goodbye and left. Hannibal turned around and William was standing there, a glare leaving his eyes as he turned to George.

“I shall hear about this when I get there, won’t I?” William asked.

“I’m afraid so sir,” George replied. William sighed. “We better get going,” he said, and Hannibal moved so William could lock his door.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
The next day, William avoided talking to Hannibal at lunch and even paid for his meal himself. When it was time to go back, a snow was drifting down. “I doubt we’ll be able to eat together much more,” William said, turning his collar up.

“Where is the scarf I gave you?” Hannibal asked.

“It’s…” William started to say, and then stopped. “It must be at her place.” Hannibal tensed.

“That was a gift,” he said slowly.

“I know,” William replied. “But she was cold, and she cut herself…”

“What were you doing with such a woman?” Hannibal hissed, unable to control himself for the moment.

William glanced at him. “Proving you wrong,” he replied. “I do have an interest in women. So if we could keep ourselves focused on the work at hand…” He didn’t wait for Hannibal to say anything and walked off, face down against the cold wind. He wasn’t going to tell Hannibal, ever, that he was actually right. The night with Mary had started off alright, as her touches had gotten him going, but when it came time to actually…penetrate her, William couldn’t do it. He got gone soft and apologized, giving her all the money he had on him and walked out in a hurry, forgetting the scarf. He had then gone home and lay on his bed, taking himself in hand, and thought of Hannibal. Even the thought of remembering that act made William blush hard. But he would not pursue Hannibal; it would probably make the other man grin in smug satisfaction to have been able to know William so well.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
The days followed, William didn’t come to lunch and after the first day where Hannibal sat alone in the crisp air, he went about trying to find out who Mary Kelly was. He thought of simply asking a constable, but knew they would be suspicious once they found the woman dead. So Hannibal resorted to asking first William’s landlord if he knew where William had been that night and tracing backwards. When Hannibal found out that William had been in the Ten Bells, in Whitechapel, well that made the doctor wonder what other kinds of dreams the detective had about him. He wondered if William dreamed, in terror of the Ripper finding him and cutting him open. Hannibal could only hope the younger man had such delicious nightmares.

Hannibal sat inside Ten Bells, keeping an eye on the door as prostitutes came in. Hannibal was sure he could have an array of organs from Mary; he had never truly had the time to get any others, except for the kidney from Ms. Eddowes. It had been a fine piece of meat, though he hoped if he took more organs, he could get William to dine on one without noticing. The thought made Hannibal smile. A woman with dark curly hair and a red dress came to stand in front of him. “Interested mister?” she asked.

“Perhaps,” he replied. “Are you Mary Kelly?”

The woman shook her head. “Mary’s out back,” she replied.

“Thank you,” Hannibal said and gave her some change for the information. Hannibal sipped his drink, waiting. He saw Mary eventually come inside, her red hair and Irish accent clear when she cursed the cold. The woman in red talked to her and Mary came over to Hannibal.

“You know me?” she asked slowly.

“Only through a friend,” Hannibal answered. “Could I take you home, where it’s warmer?” She looked him over, could tell he was well off and nodded. Hannibal was silent the walk to her place. Mary asked, as she unlocked her door, through the window Hannibal noted, remembering William mentioning she was hurt, “What do you do for work?”

“I am a psychologist,” Hannibal replied.

“What’s that?” she asked in return. Hannibal wasn’t going to answer, but followed her inside. He had made up his mind; he would get on her good side, like he had with the others, so they would never suspect him once he pulled out his scalpel. Hannibal had sex with her, careful about it, not sure if she had any diseases, and made sure she achieved her pleasure. Mary seemed a little confused.

“You not interested in ladies doctor?” she asked. Hannibal was putting himself in order.

“Not particularly, no,” he replied.

“It’s alright,” she said. “It happens, more so in jobs such as yours than one would think.”

“And yet every one of my colleagues is happily married,” he said, fixing his vest. “What does that say about them I wonder?” Mary laughed as he finished dressing and paid, noting the scarf on a hook with her shawl before leaving.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Two days later, Hannibal went back to the Ten Bells, gloves and scalpel on him. He met Mary again and she recognized him. “What are you doing back doctor?” she asked.

“I enjoyed your company,” he replied.

“Really?” Mary asked, disbelief in her voice. She shifted and sighed. “Alright,” she said. Hannibal led her out, towards her residence. It was about two in the morning, deathly silent. Just as they neared Mary’s door she was stopped by a man and Hannibal ducked his head away from any light. Mary asked the man for some money, to keep rent from tiding over. Hannibal wondered if she thought he wasn’t going to pay her. It didn’t seem to matter, for the man gave her some change and she went to open the door. Once they were inside, Hannibal proceeded to begin having sex with her, keeping his gloves on. He slid the scalpel out, right before she reached her climax and slit her throat, while she weakly called out.

After Mary bled out, he proceeded to cut out her heart, intestines and a few other organs that he thought would make interesting dishes. He placed the intestines and kidneys at various points around her body, just to make in interesting for William. He then hacked at the face and arms, to further take the suspicion that he had any medical knowledge away. He stared at the corpse for a few moments, around an hour had passed. His hands were covered in blood, as well as his forearms and face. Even in death, the thought that she had been with William made Hannibal angry. He hacked at her face again, and her throat, cutting to the bone. He proceeded to remove her breasts and cut along her thighs, the places where William would have touched her most. Afterwards, Hannibal sighed and took her removed clothes, using the cleanest to wipe off the blood from his body. He used her washbasin to get the rest and got dressed. He took the scarf and Mary’s clothes and shoved the almost rags in her furnace, lighting them to burn. He then unlocked the door and saw himself out.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
William heard there had been another Ripper victim, that it was worse than the others. But as he walked with Zeller, his mind didn’t seem to catch on where he was going, despite it being about ten in the morning. William thought of the note he had made about Hannibal, how he had never looked into the other man’s history, never felt compelled to…William frowned as he recognized the street. “What did you say the victim’s name was?” he asked.

“Mary Kelly,” Zeller replied. William’s heart raced, he hoped it wasn’t the same woman. They went inside and the sight of all the blood, the organs and the fact that it was the same woman he had tried to sleep with not even a week earlier made him sick. When he came back inside, Zeller was taking detailed notes. “Any organs missing? William asked.

“The heart, among a few others,” Zeller replied. William nodded, looking around and noticed the scarf he had left was either gone, taken by the Ripper, or…part of the ash of burnt clothes that was waded in her furnace. William couldn’t help but shake a cold feeling of dread that settled in his gut. The Ripper must have known he had been to see this woman; it couldn’t be a lucky accident that the Ripper happened to kill her without knowing William had tried to sleep with her. If the Ripper did know William had been here, then the Ripper was either following him, or it was someone he knew. William shivered, his head reeling with information. He barely noticed when Zeller stood up. “Are you sure you’re not going to get sick again?” Zeller asked, standing close to William.

“What?” William asked, and then shook his head.

“I can handle this,” Zeller told him. “You can take the notes and go back to the station.” William nodded and left with George, the other constables kept the crowd back.

William didn’t go to lunch with Hannibal, didn’t want to talk to the doctor about Mary’s death. William stayed and pored over the notes. He noticed the other women were older than Mary, but Mary wasn’t much younger than William. William was sure Mary had been killed because of his involvement with her. He thought of how her heart was missing, how kind she mentioned he was because he lent her the scarf. The other women weren’t damaged as much and the missing organs were probably being eaten. William gripped his hands into his hair. He couldn’t think about this anymore. He looked up, to see Zeller talking with a constable.

“The Ripper doesn’t have medical knowledge,” he said. “The cuts on her face and the last one’s face show that much.” William opened his mouth to object, when he remembered Hannibal telling him he used to be a doctor. Hannibal was the only one, besides George who knew about William going to see Mary. It was barely evidence to accuse Hannibal was the Ripper, but it was buzzing in William’s mind to find out. He went and asked George if he knew Hannibal’s address, so he could send him a telegraph. George went to find out the doctor’s home address and eventually told William. William sent a message to Hannibal, that he wanted to talk and even have a meal. It was going to have to be vague enough William hoped that Hannibal would try to serve an organ to him. William had promised to be at Hannibal’s by seven, and he wasn’t late.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
William arrived at Hannibal’s, to find he had a more than modest house to himself and a few servants. “You put all the money you had from being a doctor into this house?” William asked as he hung his coat up.

“Not all of it,” Hannibal replied. “It was only the money that was left to me by my parents when they passed.”

William stopped as he entered the dining room. “You’ve had a lot of money in your hands for some time. You like fine objects, when you can get them. Why did you ever have Chilton let you on this case? Were you bored?”

“Something like that,” Hannibal answered and sat down. A large silver dish was brought out. Hannibal sat at the head of the long table and William was on his right.

“What is it?” William asked. The dish was uncovered and set before them.

“Heart, from a rather unfortunate boar,” Hannibal replied, taking it and setting it on his plate, slicing it. William glanced at Hannibal.

“There’s been another victim,” the detective said.

“I saw, it was all over the evening edition of the papers,” Hannibal said, setting some heart on William’s plate.

“I was wondering if you had any kidney,” William said softly. Hannibal turned to him.

“I had some last month,” he said. “It would have spoiled by now, and I like my meat when it’s fresher.” William fought against the urge to cry, the urge to let out the emotions he had, as he realized his friend was the Ripper. Hannibal noticed the detective just sitting there. “Now, don’t be rude William, eat up, then we can talk.” William flinched and slowly ate Mary’s heart, trying not to gag at every swallow.

Once the dishes were cleared away, Hannibal suggested they talk in the study, where he had his patients. William declined. He didn’t want Hannibal’s staff to hear what he was about to say. “I need some fresh air,” William said and pulled his coat on. He stood out on the steps and Hannibal stood against the closed door. William gazed across the street and muttered, “I know. It was you all along.”

“I don’t know what you’re referring to William,” Hannibal said. William turned to face the older man.

“You’re the Ripper,” William hissed. “It’s always been you. You killed Mary because I knew her. You got rid of the scarf…because you…” William came to the sudden realization that Hannibal had been jealous. “I didn’t sleep with her,” William said. “I tried, but I couldn’t…I couldn’t…” A soft, wet snow started to fall. “You were right,” William whispered.

“Of course I was William,” Hannibal said. “I learned to understand you, just as you were learning to understand me.” He pulled the red scarf from behind his back and wrapped it around William’s neck and used it to tug the younger man close. Their lips met and William gasped.

One of Hannibal’s hands snaked down to feel William’s hip. It ran across William’s belly, and then suddenly William felt something and sharp press into his shirt, cutting into his skin. William whimpered, one hand went to grab at the knife in Hannibal’s hand, the other to pull at the scarf around his throat. The knife slid sideways and William felt warm blood rushing out against his hand and it dribbled onto the steps. “Why?” he asked in a tight voice.

Hannibal pulled William close and whispered, “I cannot risk having anyone know who I am, dear William. And you hurt me. You were rude, turning me down when you knew we could have had peace together. Then you hurt me again, sleeping with that harlot, or at least attempting to.” William’s other hand grabbed onto Hannibal’s shoulder. The knife was gone and William’s hand tried to stop the blood flow. “How did you know it was me?” Hannibal asked. “The mortician said the Ripper had no surgical skill.”

“You-you used your other hand,” William replied, laying his head against Hannibal’s other shoulder. “If you didn’t, you would have been caught before now.”

Hannibal smiled softly, kissing William’s temple. “Does anyone know you’re here?”

“George might be the only one, because I asked him to find your address,” William replied. Hannibal hummed.

“Do you hear the singing William?” he muttered in the detective’s ear. William shook his head. “Close your eyes, listen, and head towards the light,” Hannibal said. William shuddered and shifted, slipping in his own blood. Hannibal held him upright till he passed out.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
William groaned, hearing voices crashing together. He opened his eyes and felt a lurching motion. He sat up in his bed and looked around. There was a porthole where his window should have been. He was on a ship. He went to get up and winced. He wore only his nightgown and pulled it up to reveal the bandage on his stomach. He turned, looking for Hannibal. There was a door across the room and William went to it, opening it. Hannibal stood by the rail. “Where are we?” William asked.

“On a boat, heading for America,” Hannibal answered. He turned, facing William.

“Did you patch me up?” William asked.

“I did, no other doctor would have been quick enough. You would have died on their table,” Hannibal answered.

“Why keep me alive after I found out who you are?” William asked.

“You’re missing in England right now; no one in America will know who we are. As long as I don’t kill right away, no one will suspect anything about us,” Hannibal replied. William clenched his hands into fists; he had been outmatched in wits. He went to strike Hannibal, but the other man caught his wrist. “You’re weak William, you need to rest,” the Ripper said softly. William glared at Hannibal and pulled away from him, heading back into the room. Hannibal followed, shutting the door. William spun around. “Don’t be scared,” Hannibal said. “America is not as forward thinking as England, but we can still be who we are in private.”

“What do you mean?” William asked, backing away from Hannibal and landing on his back, on the bed.

“I can finally make you mine,” Hannibal muttered, leaning over William.

Hannibal took off the thick sweater he was wearing and undid his pants, his shoes already off. Once he was naked, he pulled William’s nightgown up and over his head, revealing his naked body to the light from the porthole. “I don’t think…I don’t want…” William started to say before Hannibal kissed him. William tried to push the Ripper off and away, but the stiches in his stomach protested that thought. He would have to lie back and think of England for this night then. He watched Hannibal coat two fingers in light oil, raising his legs at the knee and pressed the slick fingers to his anus. William jerked.

“Relax,” Hannibal told him. “Focus on the movement of the ship.” William slowly did just that and was eased into a half conscious state. He fought sleep off as Hannibal’s fingers pressed into his body. William gasped as the fingers began to move about, touching him in places that sent shivers down his spine. After some time spent on that, Hannibal removed his fingers and pressed his slicked dick into William.

William snapped awake, groaning at the hot flesh that carved its way into his body. He muttered something, but was unaware himself what he meant to say. Once all the way in, Hannibal smiled.

“You are the only man I seriously considered doing this with,” he said. William didn’t know what to respond with. Whatever he managed to come up with was driven out of his head as Hannibal moved, pulling out, before pushing back in, against the movement of the ship. William grunted and groaned, clutching at Hannibal. William felt himself getting aroused and bit his lip, trying to have the pain mask the pleasure. But then Hannibal pressed against something inside of William and his dick dribbled, his back arching a little and he gasped. Hannibal grinned.

“No,” William mumbled. “I don’t want to enjoy this.” But Hannibal kept going, pressing against that sweet spot and eventually William broke down, moaning softly, muttering words of encouragement into Hannibal’s ear. Hannibal smiled and kissed William, over and over till William felt light headed.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Sometime later, as Hannibal panted and sweat over him, he stilled his thrusts and gave one last push, emptying his seed into William. William gasped at the sensation, and then wriggled as Hannibal wrapped a hand around the detective’s dick and stroked him to completion, a breathless moan. Hannibal grinned and lay over William, shielding his body with his own.

“Worth every penny, worth the wait,” Hannibal muttered. “I hope to do this many more times when we are in America.” William shut his eyes, dreaming of a moment when he could get his hands on a knife and repay Hannibal in a similar way.

**Author's Note:**

> I very much would like comments, as I know everyone does. More comments will encourage me to post more fics, probably more from Hannibal, or even older ones from Supernatural.  
> follow me on tumblr: http://shipperfiendobssesser.tumblr.com/


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